


Things Owed - Serpent's Grasp/Serpent's Lair

by Akamaimom



Series: Things Owed [7]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akamaimom/pseuds/Akamaimom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the team destroys Apophis' ships, preventing Earth from being destroyed, there are things that need to be said. Worry about the consequences of their actions, about Daniel's fate, and about their own feelings of inadequacy mar the joy of their victory, and Sam wonders how she can maintain a positive attitude in the face of all that seeks to destroy them. Jack/Sam ship, part of my 'Things Owed" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Owed - Serpent's Grasp/Serpent's Lair

**Things Owed**

**Within the Serpent's Grasp/Serpent's Lair**

 

 

 

 

 

"Can't sleep?"

 

Sam twisted slightly, angling her head towards his voice.

 

He hovered just outside the sleeping bay, holding on to the lip around the opening. "Sorry - I didn't mean to scare you."

 

"No. Sir." She turned to look at him fully - an awkward proposition with the strap still holding her head in place. "You didn't scare me. But yes, I can't sleep. Or no, I can't sleep. Or whatever."

 

"Need some help?" Gesturing towards her head, he waited for her to respond in the positive before reaching out and unfastening the hook-and-loop closure of the strap that positioned her head on what qualified on the shuttle as a pillow.

 

"Thank you, Sir." Wriggling around inside the bag, the Captain sought the zipper which would open the bag from the inside. "I thought that I'd be able to relax a little and get some rest, but apparently not."

 

"Not tired, or still keyed up?"

 

"A little of both, maybe." Sam frowned, glaring down at the mass of fabric in which she was encased. The truth was that she was exhausted, physically and emotionally. Worried about returning to a court martial, about the disappointment she'd face from her father, about losing what she'd been working so hard to achieve.

 

Losing Daniel. . .

 

Sam tensed her body against the wave of darkness that passed through her at that thought, steeled her heart against the pain. She'd been trying not to think about it, about her friend's fate, about the emptiness that his absence would leave in her life. As the 'girl' of the team, she'd endeavored not to be the weepy one - and hadn't been, as of yet. At least, not in any meaningful way. Once she was on Earth, in the privacy of her own quarters, she'd grieve. Not now. Not here.

 

Now, she just needed to get out of the sleeping bag. Passing a look at the Colonel, she poked at a spot inside the sack, indicating an outer point on the zipper. "Sir - could you - "

 

"Sure." O'Neill reached out and found the outside toggle, yanking the closure of her sleeping bag open just enough for her to turn more easily. "And I know what you mean. I gave up around an hour ago."

 

"Is it the gravity thing?" Finally, she could find the inner zipper toggle and pull it down towards her feet, then kick herself mostly free of sleeping bag.

 

The Colonel tilted his head, scrunching up his features a bit. "Not really. It's the hand thing."

 

Confused, she frowned. "The hand thing?"

 

Shifting, he pulled his right hand around to wiggle at her. "It kind of hurts. I'm hoping that you can take a look at it for me, Doctor."

 

The Captain shook her head. "Wrong kind - "

 

" - of doctor, yeah. I know." He narrowed a look at her, giving her a meaningful nudge. "Haven't you been practicing?"

 

Sam felt herself smile in response. In the back of her mind, she could see Cavity Sam's red nose blinking, hear the obnoxious buzzer as her tweezers had hit metal. She'd only played it the one time, in the infirmary with the Colonel. Since then, she'd kept the game on her mantel, between her senior-year science fair trophy and the framed photograph of her parents. When Cassie had asked to play it, Sam had muttered something only partially coherent about batteries and then taken the girl out to buy her own set. She tried not to think about the ridiculousness of that. It was only a game, right? At least, that's what she'd told herself. "Well, that's surgery. We haven't covered other kinds of wounds yet."

 

"I guess you'll have to wing it."

 

"Do you have a first aid kit?"

 

"NASA packed well." He made a jerking motion with his head towards the wall opposite. "It's over there."

 

Sam wiggled around, pulling her knees up towards her chest and shoving the bag behind her with her hands. Grasping the lip of the recessed bunk, she hesitated before heading out.

 

They'd been on the Endeavour for twelve hours, now, with at least ten more to go before an acceptable window would be available for re-entry. Bad weather shrouded the entire East Coast, so Kennedy and Canaveral were out, with heavy storms expected for a few more days. Adding to the weather difficulties, communications over much of the globe were still being hampered by the repercussions of the massive EM satellite interruption caused by the naquadah-enhanced missiles.

 

The Colonel cleared away from the bunk's opening, steadying himself against the rigid sleeping berths as Sam scooted out of the confined space. She wobbled a little, then righted herself, allowing herself to acclimate to the dizzying sensation of not being able to differentiate between up and down before venturing forth.

 

It wasn't floating as much as hovering - weightlessness didn't make someone drift anywhere in particular, there just wasn't such thing as being on the ground. After they'd climbed out of the hatches of the death glider into the belly of the shuttle, Sam had taken several minutes to figure things out in the weightlessness of space. Her stomach had not cooperated as well as she'd hoped it would. Neither had her head. She'd dreamed of being an astronaut for most of her life, and had eaten up all the information she could find in libraries and seminars. She'd even begged and pleaded her father for a summer in Space Camp the year she'd turned twelve. The astronauts they'd had as guests in the panels had grown tired of her peppering them with questions, but they'd answered each one of her questions patiently and in detail.

 

So, Sam had expected the nausea, and the disorientation. However, she'd been hoping to avoid the headache that occurred because of bodily fluids displaced by the absence of gravity. Sadly, there wasn't much she could do about it until her body figured out how to move those fluids around on its own. With a grimace, she reached out and pulled herself towards the first aid cupboard at the hygiene station, anchoring herself with a toehold on the shelving unit beneath the little galley area.

 

The Shuttle was cramped, and crowded, equipment and supplies stowed wherever they could be attached to a wall or other surface. Utterly lacking in anything close to interior decorating, the accommodations were completely geared towards utility and not at all towards comfort. The cupboard holding the medical supplies, marked with the ubiquitous red cross, was stuffed with hanging zippered pouches of various items, from bandaids and pain relievers to a portable cardiac stimulator.

 

The Colonel bumped up against her as he neared, and Sam scrambled for a handhold in order to stabilize herself. His body crowded hers against the cabinetry until he managed to catch a toe hold, shove off backwards, then bring himself to a halt with a hand on the wall.

 

"Damn it." O'Neill exhaled sharply, reaching blindly to one side to latch onto the corner of the galley. "Sorry. I'm either pushing off too hard or just hanging out not going anywhere."

 

"No - it's okay. It's not like we've trained for this, right?"

 

O'Neill stabilized himself before squinting a question at her. "What, you never did a turn on the Vomit Comet?"

 

The corner of her mouth rose. "Once or twice. But that's more like a ride at an amusement park than actually experiencing space. It only lasts for a few seconds before you're back to experiencing gravity again."

 

"True." He sighed. "But it's still fun."

 

"I guess." She opened the cupboard, digging around to familiarize herself with what was inside. Looking up, she happened to see a lamp suspended from a bracket on the wall. She flicked it on with a turn of the switch and swiveled it around to shine on their ersatz examination room. "Okay. Let's see."

 

The Colonel steadied himself again before lifting his right hand and displaying it, palm down, in front of her. "It's on the outside - pinky side."

 

Sam looked down at his hand. Large, well-boned, well proportioned, with neat nails and long, square fingers. After a year or so of working in such close quarters, she probably knew his hands as well as she knew her own. They were strong, capable, and sure - fitting extensions for the man she'd come to rely on and respect. And lately, she'd caught herself looking at them more frequently, watching his fingers drum on the briefing room table, fiddle with his tac-vest, or adjust his hat - or gently squeeze the trigger of his weapon, the motion almost like a caress of skin on metal. In odd moments, she'd studied Teal'c's and Daniel's hands, but they hadn't intrigued her like O'Neill's.

 

Maybe that was because their hands had never touched her like the Colonel's had. Grasping at her shoulders as they'd slammed against a locker door, fingers dragging on her collarbones as he'd dragged her off the floor, hugged her close to comfort her after a harrowing experience under hypnosis.

 

Somehow, in the haze of those moments, she'd been able to remember how his body had felt, solid, and strong against hers. And how his hands had grasped her, rough and substantial on her skin.

 

Mentally shaking herself away from that memory, she angled her body sideways to peer at the injured side, where a bruise spread angrily from just below his wrist towards the knuckle on his little finger. "Does it hurt?"

 

"What do you think?"

 

Looking up at him, she tried again. "Of course it hurts, but how does it hurt? Is it just painful to the touch, or does it hurt to bend your fingers and use your hand?"

 

O'Neill considered, moving his hand experimentally. "Yes? Both. I don't know. It just hurts, Captain."

 

He hovered there, hand outstretched, his expression expectant. Ridiculously, all Sam could think of was that he looked like some sort of cosmic version of Oliver, the boy who asked for more. Biting her lips, she bent to look at the wound again.

 

"It looks swollen."

 

"It is. And it's kind of hot. And it pops a little bit when I move it, but it didn't when the injury first occurred."

 

"Pops?"

 

"You know, pops."

 

"Oh." She hesitated, then looked at it again.

 

"You know, Carter." All of a sudden, his head was level with hers, his hand between them. "You might actually be forced to touch me."

 

How could he have known? Sam backed away, out of the light, as a rush of heat invaded her cheeks. She knew she was blushing, strove to hid it by bowing her head low as she looked down at his hand. With a tidge of exhausted hysteria, she imagined how she must appear. Afraid of a hand - terrified of a conglomeration of muscles and bones and tendons. And a wounded conglomeration, at that.

 

But it was this same hand, these same fingers, that had caused her to lay awake at night lately, imagining as they did mad things to her, on her. She blinked once, then again, clearing her throat, knowing with certainty that she probably bore more than a passing resemblance to a lunatic owl which had recently undergone a lobotomy.

 

"Captain?"

 

His voice dragged her back to reality. "Yes, Sir?"

 

"Do you want to just bag this and go back to bed?"

 

With a little groan, Sam allowed her eyes to drift closed, searching her entire being for something else on which to concentrate. Something other than grief, or pain, or this man crowding her – however unintentionally – against the hygiene galley cupboard of a space shuttle.

 

His dark eyes watched her, narrowed, calculating, his mouth a tight line. After a few impossible beats, he withdrew his hand, pushing slightly backwards. "Sorry - I just thought - "

 

"No, Sir. I'm okay. Let's see." His withdrawal embarrassed her, instilling a bit of sanity. Forcing herself to focus, Sam reached into the medical supplies, digging around until she found what she was looking for. Pulling a sanitizing wipe from a plastic package, she scrubbed her own hands thoroughly before stowing the used towelette in a garbage receptacle. "I'm going to poke around a little. Let me know what it feels like."

 

"Okay." The Colonel raised his hand again, the sheerest bit of skepticism in his pose. He relaxed his muscles when she wrapped her hand around the inner half of his, urging the limb wound-side up. "Any clue where Teal'c and Bra'tac went?"

 

"Nope." Thankful for some sane conversation, Sam ran a finger along the side of his hand, from wrist to pinky, feeling for anything that would indicate a break. His skin was as warm as she'd remembered - a little more so where the worst of the bruising had made it puffier then the rest. "My guess is that they found a spot to Kel'Norim. Bra'tac didn't like the whole weightless thing. He kept getting all tangled up in his cloak."

 

A little sound came from deep in O'Neill's chest. It could have been a grunt. "Worst tactical uniforms ever."

 

"You're telling me. Especially those big snake head helmet things." Gratitude for a benign topic of conversation flowed through Sam, making things seem more ordinary. Crouching a little, angling her body in her slight space, she tilted her head to look at a point just above the knuckle of his pinky, on the meaty outermost part of his hand. "How are you supposed to fight in one of those things? The armor I can understand, what with the proliferation of energy-based weapons, my guess is that the metallic plating serves to disperse the blast and lessen the impact. But those helmets are worn solely to intimidate, in my opinion. Unless there's technology in there that we don't know about - but I've never asked Teal'c about it. Anyway, I much prefer our BDUs. We can move around better, and the fabric breathes at least a little."

 

"Mmm." He turned his hand, angling it obediently when she nudged at his palm.

 

"Except, I wish they would make inset buttons on the back pockets instead of the flaps. Those big old flaps never stay put and then they stick out and make your butt look huge." Stopping short, she looked up at her CO. With a grimace, she sighed. "And I just said that out loud, didn't I? I tend to babble when I'm tired."

 

"I've noticed." The Colonel moved as if to retract his arm. "I'll just wait until we land, if you're too wiped out to do this now. I just figured that we had some time to kill, and if there was anything you could - "

 

She caught his sleeve between her fingers, her hands sliding back into a cradle around his injured hand. "No, Sir. I've tried to sleep, and couldn't. At least this gives me something to do."

 

"We could find some cards, I suppose."

 

She couldn't help but smile. "Floating, sir. Makes it difficult to play Gin Rummy."

 

"Ah - so you're a Rummy girl."

 

"Or Canasta." She considered. "Not much into Hearts or Spades."

 

"Solitaire?" How did he manage to tease her without even cracking a grin? He tapped her hand with his uninjured one, drawing her attention to his face. "No - I've got it. Old Maid."

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. Meaningfully. "Slap Jack."

 

A slow, intimate grin spread across his features. "Point taken."

 

And there it was again. The thing that was - or wasn't - and couldn't be - happening. The increased awareness that she'd been struggling to ignore, to frantically evade. Whether she was the only one that felt it was unclear. Sam only knew that his dark eyes were warmer than they'd been in the infirmary after Antarctica, when she'd made him laugh - albeit painfully - about poor Cavity Sam and his missing bits. His current expression was less guarded than she'd seen it since he'd returned to duty after his leg had healed.

 

She'd gone over with the guys to keep him company once right after Janet had released him from the infirmary. There were only three places to sit in O'Neill's living room. The couch, which really counted more as a love seat, and two single chairs that sat across from it. The Colonel had taken up residence on the sofa during his convalescence, and Teal'c and Daniel had planted themselves in the single chairs, so Sam had been left to sit on the couch next to O'Neill. She'd spent the entire time trying not to touch her CO - an impossible feat, since the sofa was old, and tended to sink in towards the middle, which had caused them both to slide inexorably towards the center.

 

Each time she'd touched him, each time her arm or knee or shoulder had brushed against him, he'd made a sound - like an exasperated breath - in his throat, shifting aside to avoid her. She'd spent the rest of the evening huddled up against the couch's arm, gripping it like a life preserver. As soon as the credits had run, she'd fled, and skipped the next few visits claiming everything from issues at work to having promised to babysit Cassie.

 

But now, his hand lay still, in hers, warm, alive, and real. She'd been keeping it steady with her left hand while she'd explored his injury with her right. And, as clinical as this moment needed to be, Sam still couldn't help but revel just a bit in the weight of it, the feel of it, the heat of it in her own. Because she knew that it shouldn't have weight, and as cold as the Shuttle was, it shouldn't be this warm, and she wondered if he weren't pressing his hand into hers as much as she was tightening her hold on it.

 

With a deliberate breath, Sam tamped down the shiver that rose within her, forcing herself back into control. With a curt nod, she regrouped. "How exactly did you hurt your hand? Was it when you punched Klo'rel?"

 

"Not quite."

 

Frowning, she lifted his palm, turning it, stroking the outer edge gently with her thumb. "Without an X-ray, I couldn't be sure, but I'm worried you might have a boxer's fracture across that fifth metacarpal."

 

"That what’s -it?"

 

"Your pinky. Well, not exactly the pinky finger, per se, but it's the bone on the interior of your hand that attaches to the pinky." To illustrate, she swept a path from the outermost bone of his wrist down his hand towards his knuckle. Gently, she increased pressure on the bone in question. "It's that one."

 

"I thought you weren't that kind of doctor." His tone held a bit of a tease in it. "Yet here you are, using doctor words."

 

Stubborn to her core, Sam kept her chin down, concentrating on her task. "My room mate at the Academy was pre-med. I quizzed her on anatomy, and she returned the favor for chemistry and biology."

 

"Ah." Jack bent his head to peer at his injury. "Would I still be able to bend my hand if it were broken?"

 

Straightening a little, Sam placed his hand palm-to-palm on hers, moving his pinky up and down experimentally. "Does it hurt when I do this?"

 

"Yes, but I've had broken bones. That doesn't feel the same." He relaxed a little, his hand heavier in hers. His thumb made contact with the heel of hers, then lingered. "Like I said before, usually there's a pop or a snap when something breaks. I didn't feel one, this time."

 

"It was pretty chaotic in there."

 

"At times. But I would have remembered."

 

"Maybe you just hit it against a hard object in Apophis' ship. It could be a deep bone bruise. It doesn't look like a burn from an energy-based weapon, but you do have abrasions here, and these indentations - "

 

"You bit me, Carter." His voice was soft, his tone more amusement than pain or annoyance. "Rather hard, I might add. We couldn't see, remember? And we'd been taken out by that grenade thing, and I tried to sit up and accidentally hit your face, and you - "

 

"I bit you." Her eyes flew to his face, and she stalled at his expression, unsure how to interpret it. At once intense and bemused, his dark gaze seemed to penetrate her. She loosened her grip on his fingers, levering herself upright, remembering. "I _bit_ you."

 

"I was okay with it at the time. I thought it showed a lot of chutzpah."

 

"Chutzpah."

 

"Bravado. Strength. Bravery."

 

"Yeah. I know what it means." She flashed him a look. "I'm just not certain that I would describe my participation in quite that way."

 

"Carter, don't second guess your purpose on this mission."

 

"But it wasn't a mission, was it?" Deflating a little, Sam grimaced. "In fact, on this one, I kind of felt like I was just tagging along."

 

"You came in the first place. Breaking all kinds of regulations, ruining your perfect disciplinary record, biting your CO. You're an animal."

 

"Hiding behind walls and shooting from around corners." Releasing his hand, she pushed backwards, until her shoulder blades hit the wall. "I was a tag-along. Little more than a tourist."

 

The Colonel studied her briefly before reaching out to fiddle with the locking mechanism on the galley door. "Planting C-4 all over a Goa'uld mother ship and being willing to explode with it in order to save your home world? Oh yeah. You're a real wuss, Carter."

 

The noise she made was dismissive. "We got lucky, Sir."

 

Edging closer, he shrugged. "'Fate favors the fearless'."

 

Frowning at the red cross on the cabinet door next to her, Sam scrambled for the correct reference. "Patton?"

 

"Nah. I saw a guy wearing a t-shirt that said that. We were both getting Slurpees."

 

She toed herself upwards, buying time? Or killing some. She couldn't have said for sure. "Anyway, we're going home to face discipline, aren't we?"

 

"But we're going home."

 

"To a court martial."

 

He tried to be light, but ended up sounding more resigned than anything else. "Hey - any mission you make it home from, right?"

 

Breathing through a sudden sadness, Sam fought back the rush of heat in her cheeks, the prickling of moisture in her eyes. "Right. Except that this time, Daniel didn't."

 

This time, it was his hand that grasped hers. "Hey. We don't know that."

 

"Colonel, you said yourself that he was dying."

 

"Right. I did." He tugged on her fingers, drawing her attention up to his face. "But Daniel has always shown a remarkable - and somewhat annoying - ability to cheat death. He's a tenacious little bugger, and might surprise us, yet."

 

"I just don't see - "

 

"Captain."

 

By now she was used to him interrupting her, especially when he was trying to convince himself as much as he was her. This time was different. Facts were facts, weren't they?  Sam pressed on, regardless of her CO's reluctance. "Sir. We left him behind on a ship that exploded. He was mortally wounded. We disabled the shields ourselves. Left behind the charges, rigged to explode. It's almost as if we killed - "

 

"Carter." He let out an exasperated breath, his voice harsher than before. "Let's just deal with that when we know more."

 

"You mean, let's just hunker down into the pits of denial until what? We find a body? We could live for the rest of our lives and simply never know."

 

His expression gentled, his eyes shrouding as he loosened his hold on her hand. "Is there really anything we can do about it up here? In orbit?"

 

"No. There's not. I know there's not." Sam sighed, ducking her chin downwards, fighting away the surge of despair that accompanied her helplessness. "I'll just miss him. If he's really - gone. I'll miss him a ton."

 

"That sounds pretty serious."

 

She reached over and absently ran a fingertip along the recessed edge of a galley door. "Of course it is. Daniel has become very important in my life. He's my teammate, my friend."

 

"Just friends, huh?"

 

Frowning, she glanced over at the Colonel. "Well, maybe more than friends - "

 

He took a while to answer, and when he did, it was forced. "Oh?"

 

Sam faded a little, shoulders sagging.  "He's like a brother to me. Closer than my real brother is. Teal'c, too. We're like a family."

 

She sensed his hesitation, watched as he fought the urge to ask the question that had sharpened his features. "Brothers, huh? Me too?"

 

Sam bit her lips together, her mind racing. She tried not to stare at her CO, tried not to study his face - the way his body hedged backwards as if shielding himself from a coming blow. Tried not to see how uncertain he seemed in that moment. Tried not to feel something complicated.

 

Tried, but failed. How could it possibly be uncomplicated? Memories of the last time she'd touched him bloomed within her. Ice and heat and lying in each others' arms. Worry and pain and the sickening guilt of failure. Incongruous giggling. Giving each other permission to die.

 

Above all, feeling like she'd finally found home - while dying in an icy tomb, within the shelter of the embrace of this man. And then not being _allowed_ to feel that way.

 

How could that not be complex?

 

"Well, Sir." She paused, meeting his eyes, searching for an appropriate response. Fleetingly, ridiculously, in the back of her head, she wished for the company of Teal'c. The Colonel would never have allowed this conversation to happen if anyone else had been in the common area. And yet, here the man hovered, a frission of expectant energy pulsing through him as he waited for her answer. After he'd asked the question that could define the rest of her life. "I _don't_ think of you as a brother."

 

His lips thinned. Relief? Annoyance? Sam honestly couldn't be certain what his reaction was. She watched as he listed a bit to one side before righting himself again in alignment with the galley. With a pained exhale, he extended his right hand in her direction again, angling it under the light. "So, my hand."

 

"I won't know more without x-rays, Sir." She tried to sound apologetically light, offering a light lift of her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

 

"Damn." He frowned, glaring down at his swollen, reddening appendage. "How about some pain killers?"

 

"I could ask the crew, Sir." She touched his hand lightly. It was more swollen than before. "But I'm not sure how or even whether human physiology is changed by a lack of gravity. I'm not sure what the dosage or even the kind of medication I should use would be. The principal symptom seems to be swelling, and that could be adversely affected by something like an anti-inflammatory."

 

"Kiss it and make it better?"

 

Oh, if only. Sam's breath hitched briefly, and she wilted, a little inside. Softly, her fingers made their way back along the top of his hand, until the hair on his wrist tickled at their tips, her thumb easing around to stroke once, twice, on the broad roughness of his palm. Both hands, now, holding his as if it were an anchor, or a talisman. increased the pressure of her hand on his for the sparest of heartbeats before she let go. "I'm not sure I'm that talented, Sir."

 

He withdrew his hand, flexing it experimentally with a wry grimace. With a sparse gesture towards the command module upstairs, said, "Well, maybe I'll just ask Hinckley."

 

"Once we land, we'll get you to a medic." Too bright, too forced. She turned towards the medical cupboard and pushed through the zippered canvas dividers until she found something useful. Deftly, she unwrapped the package and kneaded it until the chemicals inside activated, chilling her fingers as it cooled. "For now, use this."

 

His fingers brushed hers as he accepted the plastic package. It could have been deliberate. Sam decided that she really didn't want to know for sure. What had she been preaching earlier about denial? "Do you want me to tape it into place?"

 

The Colonel dithered, staring down at his hand. "Nah. I'll just hold it. It'll give me something to do."

 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

 

"For what? Not being a medic on top of already being an astrophysicist and a kick-ass officer?"

 

"Yeah. That." Hesitant, she ran her tongue along the crease of her lips before continuing. "And for biting you. Oh - and for the glider thing."

 

"The what?"

 

"In the gliders. After the explosions. I was kind of freaking out. I knew that we wouldn't - couldn't - make it back through the atmosphere and that we were going to die."

 

He didn't say anything, merely waited for her to find the words she needed.

 

"And I started imagining what it would be like, to burn up in reentry, or to die cold, and airless. I was into this morbid state of fascinated depression."

 

He tilted his head, adjusting the ice pack on his hand without looking at it, patiently expectant.

 

"And you told me to 'look up'." Sam paused, taking an experimental look over at him, then away again when his intense gaze made her shiver. "So I did, and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. The Earth and that sunset, juxtaposed against the blackness of space - it was almost divine. You know? I thought that I could die happy, having seen that. And I wouldn't have seen it if it weren't for you telling me to look for it. I'd have busied myself looking for a way to save myself, and I probably would have been elbow deep in Goa'uld circutry as I died."

 

"But hey." His voice was quiet. "We made it, Carter."

 

"I know that." She tempted fate and raised her face to his. "What I don't know is how you do it."

 

His brows lowered into an unspoken question.

 

"How do you keep that perspective? How are you, with all of the crap in your past, still capable of keeping things positive? Of hoping for the best?"

 

The Colonel studied her for a breath, and then shook his head. "I wasn't all positive on this one. Wasn't I the one whining about it being a bad day?"

 

"Well yeah, but still. You also convinced Bra'tac that there had to be another way for us to escape. You got us into those gliders. You kept telling us all that there had to be a way."

 

"Don't make me out to be anything other than what I am, Carter."

 

"I'm not. I'm just in awe, I guess." Nearly a whisper, so quiet that she wondered if he could even hear her. "I don't know how you just keep going when everything's stacked against us."

 

She had lost her bearings and gradually drawn close to him, so much so that the cold pack on his hand grazed her ribs. Startled by the impact, his other hand rose to rest at her waist, keeping her at bay, or keeping her near - it wasn't possible to sat. His breath hissed out from between his teeth, but he didn't back away. Instead, he made a long, slow study of her still-smudged face, the mess that was her hair, her hands, where they'd come a rest - one on the cabinetry and the other on on his forearm, and her body, as it hovered so near his own.

 

"Dunno, Carter." He offered an easy, self-effacing smile. Reflective, somehow. His eyes searched hers, darkness meeting light. "I guess it's easier when you've found something to live for."

 

 

\-----OOOOOOOO-----

 

They found a window over White Sands, landing hard on the behemoth runway. A few hours later, a transport landed them in the Springs, and then the 'Gateroom had erupted into applause as they'd returned home.

 

Daniel had been waiting for them, and Sam felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted – just a little - from her shoulders. They'd been checked out, cleared medically, and then sent home to recuperate. At random ends, Sam had been restless, more alone that she'd felt in ages, and had ended up roaming the mall, of all places. People watching, browsing through clothes and shoes and books, she'd wondered about this kind of normal - where alien ships weren't ready to attack at any moment. It had been maddening on one hand that everyone was simply shopping and living and socializing, all while ignorant of the truth. At the same time, it was comforting to know that life carried on. That this inanity could continue because she and her team had made it possible.

 

She hadn't known she was looking for something specific until she'd found it. Now, however, it was scattered in pieces on her lab table while she made a few improvements to it. Sam's fingers laid an intricate piece of circuitry within a casing, using a tiny set of tweezers to align the prongs. Smiling, she tapped it to make sure it was secure.

 

"So, the Colonel told me you bit him."

 

Sam looked up from her fiddling to see Janet standing in the doorway of her lab. Still holding the tweezers, she motioned at her. "Come on in."

 

"You bit him? Seriously?" The diminutive doctor headed towards where Sam sat at the worktable, the heels of her shoes clicking neatly on the cement flooring. "Is that true?"

 

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "It was an accident, if that makes it any less creepy."

 

"I figured. If it hadn't been accidental, we might be having a whole other kind of talk."

 

"Ha ha." Sam grinned. "We were knocked out by this grenade thing. When I came to, his hand was on my face. I bit him."

 

Janet stopped next to the table. "Well, you bit well. You did a little damage, actually, but nothing too bad. He told me you bandaged him up on the Shuttle."

 

Sam straightened, tapping her screwdriver on the tabletop. "I gave him an ice pack. I don't know if that constitutes adequate medical care."

 

One brow rising, Janet reached out and picked up a screw that had rolled to the edge of the work surface. "He seemed to be very impressed."

 

"Yes, well, he's very impressionable."

 

"Not according to my experience."

 

Sam sighed, setting her tools down and leaning back on her stool. "What are you saying, Janet?"

 

"Nothing." Fraiser's nimble fingers set the screw down, rolling it towards the rest of the bits and pieces scattered on the table. "Nothing at all."

 

Eyes narrowed, Sam glared at her friend. "Okay."

 

"So, what an adventure, right? I'm only sad that I wasn't here when you guys returned."

 

"You mean for the questioning and discipline?"

 

The doctor leaned forward on the edge of the table, resting her chin on her upturned fist. "Was it bad?"

 

Frowning, Sam kicked her heel against the rung on the bottom of the stool. "Not really. I think that Hammond must have stepped up for in a big way. It helped that the Pentagon's plans failed so miserably. We were told it would be a mark against us, but I don't know what that entails, exactly."

 

"Well, maybe someone with their heads outside of their rectums will review it and figure out the truth. That you all deserve commendations and accolades rather than being the subjects of a witch hunt."

 

Sam's lips curved into a genuine smile as she reached for one of the parts on her table with one hand, and the soldering iron with the other. "I wouldn't let the General hear you say that."

 

"I've already said it to him." Janet wiggled her brows. "He agreed with me."

 

"Hmmm." Sam fitted another part to the first one, connecting two wires. Lifting the heated implement, she soldered the two wires together, then waited for them to cool. "Well, if that happens, I think that Colonel O'Neill should definitely get a commendation. Without him, we'd all have blown up in the ships."

 

"Funny." At Sam's prompt, Janet located and supplied another piece of the device. "But he said the same thing about you."

 

Sam took a moment to concentrate on fitting another piece to the casing, using the activity to hide the color that tinted her cheeks. "Well, anyway. It's over and done. We'll get back to work, just like before."

 

Janet made a noise that was neither dismissive nor agreement. "So, what's this you're tinkering with? Some alien weapon? A new kind of radiation detector? Intergalactic translator?"

 

"No." Sam screwed the housings back together, then attached the lens with a little 'click'. "It's a night light. Kind of. Just something I saw and thought the Colonel might think was cool."

 

"So, it's a present for O'Neill?"

 

Sam raised her gaze to where Janet stood, now, hands in her lab coat's pockets, her face - her entire posture - a question. "Not a present. Just a thing. From one colleague to another."

 

"Mmm." Janet rocked back on her heels, obviously unconvinced. "Well, I'd better get back to the infirmary." Eyes on Carter, she took a few steps backwards, before turning towards the door.

 

"Janet."

 

At the entry, the doctor pivoted, eyes wide, brows raised. "Yeah, Sam?"

 

"It's okay. It's nothing, really. It's just a thing."

 

For a long moment, the two women merely looked at each other, waves of communication passing between them like arcs of energy between lightning bolts. Finally, Janet offered a tiny shrug. "All I'm saying is, be careful, Sam."

 

Sam nodded, the motion slow and deliberate. "I will be."

 

"What are you being, Carter?"

 

He'd appeared in the doorway from nowhere, hands in the pockets of his BDU trousers. Nonchalant, cheerful, the Colonel carefully angled himself around the doctor as he made his way into the room. He'd eschewed his overblouse in favor of a simple black tee.

 

Janet glowered at the man before turning her sternest eye towards the worktable. "She's being careful. Isn't she, Sam?"

"Yes."

 

"That's all I needed to hear." Janet threw another pointed look at Sam, then waved her fingers at the Colonel. "I'm headed back to my lair."

 

O'Neill watched her leave, then bent backwards to peer out into the hallway, balancing himself with a hand grasping at the jamb. Seemingly satisfied that she'd left, he righted himself and sauntered towards where Sam was reattaching the last piece on her device.

 

"Did you need something, Sir?"

 

"Just to let you know that they've dropped any thought of investigation."

 

Relief. She nodded, smiling down at her task. "That's really fantastic news."

 

"Apparently, Hammond told the Joint Chiefs that they needed to get their heads out of their collective asses."

 

Breathing out a laugh, Sam angled a look up at him from beneath her lashes. "Janet told me something similar earlier. I can't believe that the General actually said something like that, though."

 

"He's not nearly as sweet and cuddly as you seem to think he is, Carter."

 

Sam thought about that as she flipped the appliance over, attaching the last screw to the casing at the bottom. "I'll keep that in mind, Sir."

 

Apparently satisfied, O'Neill indicated her work with a movement of his knuckle. "What'cha doing?"

 

"Well." Hefting it upright again, she snapped the plastic cone into place, then pulled the cord from the edge of the edge of the table. "I'm finishing up this little project."

 

"What's it for?"

 

Sam plugged the little nubbed connector into one side of the object, then bent and inserted the pronged end of the cord into the outlet on the side of her workbench. "It's just something I picked up for you yesterday."

 

"For me? You didn't need to - "

 

Sam hopped off her stool, moving the finished item along with her towards the Colonel at the end of the table. Stopping at his side, she caught his attention. "I think we've had enough of that kind of conversation, haven't we, Sir? It's our thing. We're going to do it, regardless of whether it's necessary or not, right?"

 

His grin was slow and intimate. Knowing. "Okay."

 

She smiled back, "All right then. I was bored yesterday, so I went to the mall. And there's this store that sells all these technogadget things."

 

"The Sharper something-or-other."

 

"Yeah. Something like that. Massaging chairs and funky flashlights, you know. Multi-tools. That kind of stuff." She edged closer, turning the item around so that the switch was facing the Colonel. "Would you mind getting the light?'

 

His long strides covered the distance handily - three steps there, three back - and the lab was bathed in darkness, the only light coming from the bulb several yards down the hall from her door. Hands steepled at his waist, O'Neill looked down at the little appliance on her work table. "So, what is it?"

 

She switched it on, and a hazy glow hovered over the lens on the top of the device. The Colonel stared at it, then cast her a look. "Is it broken?"

 

Even in the darkness, her smile seemed brighter than the sun. Shaking her head, she nudged his shoulder with her own, pointing a little towards the ceiling. "No, Sir. Look up."

 

His too-sharp eyes studied her features briefly before he tilted his head upwards. Across the ceiling, space swirled in a slow tableau. A partial Earth - blue and brown and swirled with clouds - hovered on one side, the darkness of space loomed on the other. The barest glow to the upper left hinted at the position of the moon. Gradually, the scene shifted, and another picture took its place. Gaseous clouds in a dizzying array of colors interspersed with glimpses of distant stars as a new galaxy formed.  Another shift, and space was seemingly cut in two by a gigantic ring with a distinct glow at the center - an entire galaxy in a single disc of glowing gas and space dust. Beautiful.

 

O'Neill shook his head in something close to awe, turning to look at the Captain. "You did this?"

 

"Well, I gathered the pictures. Most of them are from the Hubble. But Commander Hinckley was nice enough to email me the Earth ones. The shuttle was recording the rescue, and some of the stills came from that footage. Others are from his private collection. I uploaded them onto a chip and reconfigured the motherboard of this doohickey."

 

"Which was a - "

 

"An alarm clock. But it projected the digital image on the ceiling. I just tweaked it a little."

 

Closely shuttered, his eyes perused her again before returning to the ceiling and its vibrant, expansive display. "That's just - amazing, Carter. I'm truly impressed."

 

Sam's teeth worried at her upper lip as she looked from the ceiling back to the Colonel. As he watched the pictures morph and spin above him, he looked relaxed, peaceful, his lips in an easy smile. Like a kid watching fireflies on a warm summer night.

 

"I just thought you might need a reminder from time to time." Sam folded her arms across her body, trying not to notice how his dimples emerged when he smiled, how his bicep flexed and tensed as he moved, how the pulse beat in the strong column of his throat. "When it's been a bad day, you know?"

 

His attention turned back to her, his expression completely unreadable. In the darkness, the lights shifted and swirled from the lens of the nightlight, bathing the two of them in an unearthly, everchanging glow. The Colonel's eyes betrayed nothing of what he was thinking, and Sam knew she needed distance - should step away, but she completely lacked the faculties to do so. Picture after picture, planets and stars and infant galaxies wafted through the air, filling them both with the wondrous, vast, incredible vision of what they were sacrificing themselves, their lives, their souls, to save.

 

"Like you said, Colonel. When we need inspiration. When we need a reason." Her voice came out more quietly than she'd intended, only audible for the man standing so still next to her. It wasn't lost on her that she was tilting her head back to gaze at him, that he was just enough taller than she was to make that necessary.  "Sometimes all we need to do is look up."

 

The smile returned, the dimple deepening to the side of O'Neill's lips. Turning, he faced her, his eyes making a thorough examination of her face, her expression. Somewhat haltingly, he lifted his hand to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers trailing briefly on her jaw, he soothed a line with the edge of his thumb along her cheekbone. His sigh seemed wistful - wanting something, resigned, somehow - as his hand dropped back to delve into his pocket. Seeking safety, perhaps, or escaping temptation.

 

"And sometimes, Sam, it goes the other way. When I need that reason. That inspiration." His voice was as low as hers when he finally responded, his words meant for her alone. "Sometimes, I just have to look down."


End file.
